


Dirt And Ashes

by soviet_Crab



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Everybody Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please Don't Hate Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soviet_Crab/pseuds/soviet_Crab
Summary: Tom did not die at the farmhouse. He blacked out, unmoving, barely breathing. His skin pale, blood no longer flowing from his wound. Will still believes he watched his loved one die. He cannot let himself have hope. He still has a mission to finish.Or, Tom wakes up, alone and in pain. No one around to help him.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 15
Kudos: 113





	1. The Warmth Of The Dark

Will’s voice was soft on his ears as the world went dark. He told Tom the way to the Second, confirming he knew it, that he would not get lost. Then he told him about his brother. He would find Joe, he promised.

“... and then I’ll find your brother...”

Tom tried and failed to hold back his tears. He wanted to see Joe so badly. He missed him so much. His brother and father had enlisted in 1914. It was another two years before Tom would join the army. He signed up the day he turned eighteen despite his mother’s wishes. His mother was the one to tell him of his father’s death. If he could go back and do it all again, he would have just stayed home.

But then he would never have met Will. He might never have even seen his brother again. This mission might not happen, letting the Second fall. He wished Joe was here with him. 

Darkness seeped into the corners of his vision. He took one more rattling breath, squeezing Will’s hand with the last of his strength. His partner kept his voice even as he spoke and for that Tom was grateful. He did not think he could bear seeing Will cry for him. He closed his eyes.

“Just like you, a little older.”

***

Will promised himself he would not cry. He would not think too deeply about now until the mission was over, until the Second was saved. Tom’s hand went limp in his own and he swallowed back a sob. He could not be dead. Not his Tom. He was so young, too young for war.

He pressed a final kiss to Tom’s forehead, pulling him closer. His skin was a sickly grey colour. A small part of Will was screaming that he would wake up now any minute, he just had to wait a little longer. He shoved it away. Tom was right here in front of him. He had… He was… Will could not even think the word in his head. It cut so deep into him he was not sure how he would manage to finish his task.

He had to stay focused, had to save Joe. For Tom. It was all for Tom now. He uncurled his hand from Tom’s. His skin was soaked with his lover's blood. He slipped the rings off of the other’s fingers, flesh still warm even in the cold of early spring. Then he moved to Tom’s neck, pulling the twine that held his identity disc from beneath his uniform. He ripped off the metal circle and placed it carefully in his pocket alongside the rings.

In Tom’s breast pocket is the map and message for Colonel Mackenzie. The envelope of the note is lightly stained in red and the map is drenched. Useless. He tossed it to the side. He could remember the way well enough.

Behind him, he heard a rumbling of lorries. His heart panged that they had not come even a little sooner. Voices spoke but he gleaned nothing from them. Seconds passed like hours as he sat, Tom’s head still on his lap. He should move him. Move him to the grass. Give him somewhere soft to sleep. 

Will stood slowly. His throat felt tight, making it hard to breathe. He wrapped his arms around Tom’s chest and started to drag him towards the grass by one of the outer buildings. The kit weighed so much, making it hard to keep a hold of him. If the kit was not there, if he had taken it off. Maybe he could have gotten him to safety, gotten help.

He could not let himself think that way.

Two privates rounded the corner, soft curses coming from their lips as they took in the scene.

“You alright?” one of them asks.

Will looks at them, silently pleading for help.

“It’s alright, it’s okay,” the second one says.

“C’mon, we can help.”

The two take Tom’s legs and together the three move him to the grass.

“Jesus. What happened to him?”

Will cannot bring himself to speak. The wound is still fresh in his heart.

“Was it the plane? We saw the smoke.”

He nodded. It was the only thing he could do. They slowly set Tom on the ground. The two privates step back as Will sinks to the grass beside him. His mind feeds him only what he wants to see. If he concentrates hard enough, it almost looks like Tom is breathing, as if he just fell asleep in the grass. Will wishes it was true.

A pair of boots comes to stand at his side. They are free of mud and almost shine in the light. An officer. The officer tells the two privates to gather Will’s things. He speaks to Will next.

“A friend?”

Again he nods because again it is all he can do. He fears if he speaks, his voice will break and he will make a fool of himself. Tom was so much more than a friend. He was a ray of light in the smoke of this god awful war.

He can hear the officer speaking again, “What are you doing here?”

He struggles to understand the question. So much has happened. All he wants to do is lay down and sleep. Sleep next to Tom. But he cannot. He has a job to do.

“I have an urgent message for the Second Devons. Orders to stop tomorrow's attack.” Will’s voice was not his own. It sounded hollow, devoid of energy, inhuman. He had lost his other half, and with him, his voice.

He looked up, seeing that the officer was in fact a Captain. His mouth moved and after a few seconds Will realized he had asked him where the Second was stationed.

“Just beyond Ecoust.”

The Captain thought for a moment before saying, “Come with me.”

Will could only sit, keeping guard by Tom’s side for when he woke up. But Tom would not wake up. He was gone.

“Come with me Corporal, that’s an order.” The Captain turned and started to walk away. Will tried to wipe the blood on his hands off on the grass but it was already dry. Staining his skin and deep red. He stood and slowly followed after the Captain.

The two privates from before hand him his helmet and Tom’s gun. He knows it was Tom’s because the bayonet is not fixed properly. He was not paying attention when they crossed no man’s land earlier that day.

“We’re passing through Ecoust. We can take you some of the way.”

In front of the farmhouse is a line of four lorries. At the front of the line is an officer’s car. Men work to move a felled tree from the road. A Colonel was shouting at them from the back of the car. The Captain moved to speak to him but Will did not care what they were saying.

After a time the Captain directed him to the last lorry. When he reached it, Will found it full of mud covered soldiers. One of them reached out a hand to take Tom’s gun. He handed it over, still not having fixed the bayonet. Then he climbed in, taking a seat between two of the men. One said something but he did not hear it.

The tree was moved and the lorries engines roared back into life. As they began to drive, the men resumed a story they must have been telling earlier. Over all the noise, Will could swear he heard Tom’s voice calling out to him. But he was dead. He had died in his arms as he watched. It hurt too much to let himself hope he was alive. Will shook his head to clear it and focused his ears solely on the conversation around him.

***

The darkness pressed heavily on Tom’s mind. It was peaceful, but somehow not what he had expected. Something crucial was off slightly. What, he did not know but it felt wrong. 

He felt his own chest rise and fall. Breathing. But he was dead. He had faded from the world. Why was he still breathing?

Tom opened his eyes, finding himself staring up at an empty sky. His back was cold and he felt soft grass between his fingers. His breaths were shallow and few between, barely taking in any air at all. The skin around his wound pulsed hot with old pain. Where was Will? Why was he not here beside him? Why had he just left him to die, with no one to hold him?

In the distance he heard engines fire up. Lorries. Will. Will was going to leave him there. He must think him dead. Panic boiled inside Tom at the thought. He summoned all the strength he had and screamed. He screamed for Will to help him. To take him with him. Telling him that he was still alive. His hands scrabbled in the grass, trying to push himself up through the burning pain. He needed to get to Will. He needed to. He had to.

He fell back. The pain was too much. No one had heard him. He was going to die, surrounded by dirt and ashes. What little blood he had left oozed slowly from his wound. The sound of engines faded into the distance. Will was gone. There was nobody to save him.

Tom reached his right thumb to the base of his middle finger, meaning to rub one of his rings, only to find it missing. As was the one on his pinky. Will must have taken them while he was asleep. He knew what they meant to him.

One was from his mother and the other his father. Joe had two similar rings as well. They were good luck charms. His family’s way of wishing them a safe return. They had always brought him comfort. Now they were gone. They had always brought him comfort. Like the little blue tin Will kept in his breast pocket. Something to remember home by. 

Will had been so close. Why did he not hear him? Fresh tears stung his eyes as he thought of his lover. It was so cold without him there by his side. They would always share their blankets at night. It was much nicer to sleep with a warm body beside you, kissing you softly as you fell asleep. 

Will must be hurting so much right now. If only Tom was there, he could show him that he was still alive. That he was okay. He would press kisses to Will’s cheeks and wipe away his tears. Tell him that everything was fine. Hold him close and whisper soft nothings in his ear.

But everything was not fine. Darkness pressed into Tom’s mind again. He did his best to keep it at bay, to stay awake. He was so afraid. Falling asleep could kill him. He had to get to Will, get to his big brother. He had to protect them, finish the mission.

The darkness grew heavy and his eyelids began to droop. He was so fucking scared. The grey sky was too bright to look at but he had to keep his eyes open. A strangled sob escaped his lips at the thought of dying alone.

His eyes were half closed now. The urge to sleep was so strong and he was so tired. A nap would be wonderful but how could he be sure that he would wake up? As he thought, he could feel the exhaustion settle in his core. So much had happened. He closed his eyes and warmth spread throughout his body. Sleep was peaceful.


	2. The Bite Of The Cold

The next time Tom awoke, it was dark. Stars twinkled and danced above his head and the wind bit through his thin undershirt. The cloth had stuck to his skin as the blood had dried. His coat and tunic had been pulled back so Will could see his wound. Without them the night was icy. 

He was so weak and his nerves were shot from pain. They pulsed dully through his body. How much time had passed since he had fallen asleep? Hours? Days? However long it had been, Will had either succeeded or failed at the mission by now. Tom desperately hoped it was the first. He would hate for his mum to lose both her sons in one day.

If he had succeeded however, Joe must also think him dead. If Tom could not get up and soon he would either bleed out or starve. The best he could hope for in this state is that Joe sent out a party to find his body. But why would he? Tom’s rings were gone and the absent circle of ice on his neck told him that his identity disc had been taken too. There was no need to find him. 

No one was coming.

He had to get up. If he could shrug off his kit it would make the task much easier. Tom reached up his right hand to search for the straps attaching the weight to his body. His fingers were numb from cold and pain and he could not tell tunic from kit. In desperation, he slipped his arm from both, leaving only his coat sleeve on. That was much easier. He pulled his other arm out too. The top button on his coat was still done but that was fine. It kept it from sliding off.

Tom took a deep breath and winced as fresh pain spilled from his wound. With his now free arms, he pushed himself up off of the ground and into a sitting position. There was no way to describe the pain. It was beyond blinding, he saw only empty nothingness. The tips of his fingers burned, screaming for blood that he did not have. He was still not even done with his task. He needed to stand. 

His body was shaking violently from both cold and pain. Sitting up had cost him so much energy. He bit back a scream and forced his eyes open. He would not fall asleep, not now. He had to get to Will, to Joe. 

He swallowed bile and managed to stagger to his feet. The pain stole his vision and sense of touch. All he could hear was a rushing sound in his ears. He might have taken two steps, he might have taken three. Tom could not feel the ground beneath his boots. Something hard pressed up against his cheek and the pain subsided. He had fallen. The darkness was closing in again and his brain felt fuzzy. He weakly pulled his coat around him before he blacked out.

***

Now it was sunset. Tom can feel the heat of the sun on his face. Bits of dirt ground into the soft skin of his right cheek. A short distance away is the body of the pilot. A light breeze ruffled the fleece on his coat.

The longer he was awake, the harder he shook. Not so much from cold anymore, more from pain. His stab wound was starting to grow hot with the beginning of an infection. His left hand slowly found its way to the hole in his skin. He immediately regretted touching it. Agony rippled in waves from his stomach. He tensed his muscles through the pain. Tom knew he needed to see the damage but he was so scared. It hurt so bad, as if all of his veins had been ripped from his body.

As much as it saddened him that Will had not stayed to see if he was really dead, he could not find it in himself to be angry at his lover. He had to save the Second, there was no time. But he still missed him so much, desperately needed him to be at his side. 

And as much as Tom ached for him, he knew it must be a thousand times worse for Will. He did not even want to picture Will dying in his arms. What must he have gone through? Did he cry for him? He hoped not. Tom was nothing to cry over.

Will was however. Tears built up in Tom’s eyes and dripped down his face and into the dirt. He missed Will. He missed Joe. He wanted someone to hold him, to help him, to keep him safe. He did not want to die, alone and afraid. His only company, the corpse of his killer.

If there was an afterlife, he was going to beat the shit out of that Hun when he got there. Tom was only trying to help, there was no need to stab him. If it was not for him, Will would have shot the Hun outright. Tom wanted to save him. He still saw the man behind the enemy, even if Will said it was foolish to think that way.

From where he lay, he could watch the sun set. It burned into his eyes but he did not close them. Tom was determined to stay awake through the night. Hunger twisted in his gut but there was nothing he could do. He let his thoughts wander to Will. Was he with the Second right now? He hoped Joe would at least be civil with him. Joe had a tendency to lash out at people when he was sad.

***

Will tossed and turned on his cot. He felt horrible both physically and emotionally. The medic told him it was only a minor concussion. The medic had lied. His memory, once crystal clear, was now spotty at best. Faces, voices, places, they were beginning to slip. And it was only getting worse.

He was so afraid of forgetting Tom. All his waking moments were spent analyzing every detail of his lover. His blue eyes. His dark hair. His soft voice. How he always seemed to be warm, even during the coldest of winter storms. The way he hummed to himself as they repaired wire. How his face would light up just at the sight of Will. The stories he would tell to keep them both distracted from the shells falling around them.

Will leaned over the side of his cot and retched onto the blood stained grass. His nose and throat burned with acid. The air smelled of blood and liquor. Men gasped for breath around him. The Second had no blanket to spare for him, so he froze. He was used to falling asleep in the cold but he dearly missed the feeling of Tom pressed against his back, arms around Will’s middle.

His eyes slowly filled with sleep. Vivid pictures flashed by until his mind settled on the worst one it could find. They were at the farmhouse. Tom’s front was drenched with blood. He asked Will to tell him the way, only, he did not know it. He had forgotten. Tom was dying, he did not know the way. The map was ruined, he did not know where to go. Tom begged him to answer and when Will told him he could not, Tom cried harder. His brother was going to die and it was all Will’s fault. 

He told Will he hated him, he could never love someone like him. Will ripped into his own mind, he must know where to go because he had done it before. But there was no answer. Tom went still in his arms, his last breath used to cut into Will’s heart, shredding it to pieces.

He dropped Tom’s head from his lap and backed as far away as he could before he broke. Tears poured from his eyes as he sobbed quietly. No one could ever love him. Not even Tom. He had failed him and now he was alone.

He held his face in his hands, trying not to make a sound. In front of him lay Tom’s corpse. Only he was not a corpse, he was moving. Struggling to get up, begging for help. Fresh blood pooled on his tunic as he moved. Will tried to go to him but he could not move. He was stuck to the ground, forced to watch. 

Tom’s begging for help quickly turned to pleading for death. He screamed and cried from the agony of his wound. There was so much blood. It ran in thick rivers past Will’s legs, wrapping around him, squeezing him with dark tendrils. He called out to Tom, to tell him he was coming to help. If he could just hold on a little longer.

The blood was over his head now. He could not see, he could not breathe. His hands grasped at nothing but the crimson liquid he was buried under. He tried to call Tom’s name one more time only for his mouth to fill with the taste of iron. It was so dark.

Will blinked in the sunlight, eyes itchy from crying. His dream was already fading. The only thing he could remember was Tom’s screams as he struggled. A horrible feeling pulled at his organs. What if Tom really was still alive? What if he had left him there, alone?

But he had watched Tom die, watched him take his last breath. He had cried for his lost love for hours. It took Joe half dragging him to get him to the med tents. Tom was gone. He had to be. So why did something feel so terribly wrong?

Back in the lorry he thought he had heard Tom’s voice. Oh God, what if it really was him? Not just Will’s hopeful imagination. What if he was lying by the farmhouse? Alone, in the cold. What if he thought Will had abandoned him? Left him to die.

Will rolled over in his cot, tears burned in his eyes. It was always so hard to hold them back. They slipped over the bridge of his nose and down his cheek. If Tom was alive, he must hate him. Hate him for leaving, for not staying a little longer to see if he was really dead. For taking his rings. 

He had to go back. Had to know for sure. Joe would help him. He had been so nice to Will, despite everything. He swung his legs over the side of the cot, wiping tear tracks from his face as he sat up. His head spun as he got to his feet but it slowly cleared. He walked between the rows of injured. A fuzzy feeling built up behind his eyes and he struggled to see. He tripped over himself and fell into Joe Blake.

“What are you doing? You need to rest.”

He carefully guided Will back to his cot and Will was helpless to stop him. All he could do was babble incoherently about needing to find Tom. That he was out there somewhere, hurting. He needed help.

Joe sat him down, his face twisted with grief. 

“Please. Please stop. I don’t, I can’t,” he choked on his words, looking away. “We’re sending a lorry past there to take the wounded. They said if they had room they would pick up the body. Now please, rest.”

Will stared with tears in his eyes. Eventually he nodded, laying back in the cot.

“The medics will bring you food in a bit. Don’t try getting up again,” then as an afterthought, “Please.”

Joe left, wandering through the rest of the tents, checking on his men. Will rubbed his eyes, not wanting to cry anymore. His hand stung, his head ached, his heart was torn in two. He missed Tom so much. He went over the little details of his face, his hands, his skin. Trying to burn them into his mind, so afraid of losing more than he already had. 

But things were beginning to slip. What colour his cheeks turned when he blushed. How his hand felt in Will’s own. Whether his hair was warm or cool brown. What songs he hummed while they worked. Oh God, he did not want to forget. There would be no Tom to remind him.

***

The night had been cold again. Tom lay on his side on the dirt. The sun warmed his back, stealing some of the cold left over from the night. It was quiet. Quiet enough to hear his own weak heartbeat, his lungs expanding with every shaking breath.

Quiet enough to hear the two pairs of boots growing closer.

His vision was blurry from exhaustion and it was difficult to make out shapes. Even still, he could swear he saw two figures growing closer. One appeared behind the house with a second clinging to his left arm. The first stared down at the pilot, shaking his head. 

Tom wheezed in another breath. The second man let go of the other’s arm with one hand to point at him. The first followed his gaze. Spotting Tom, he spoke. Tom could not understand however as what he had said had been in German.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! i still have no self control! this chapter was meant to go very differently but i seem to be incapable of just sticking to an outline.


	3. The Trick Of The Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no braincells left, this was so hard to write

A set of boots approached him, the second man stood near the pilot, afraid. He looked younger than Tom. One of the boots pushed at his left shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Pain seized at his stomach but he was too weak to call out. The German examined him, staring at his wound, then back at the pilot. Seeming to piece together what had happened. Something flashed across his face and he called out to the other.

“Baumer, komm her. Hilf mir.”

Baumer, that must be the other’s name. He moved closer to Tom. The first man spoke again, “Nehmen seine Beine.”

Arms wrapped around Tom’s chest and the second man, Baumer, took his legs. Together, the two lifted him, carrying him into the house. Agony ripped at his organs and he let out a small cry. His vision whited out and he begged for them to stop, to put him down, let him rest. If they understood him then they did not care.

Hardwood pressed into his back and his head banged against the floor. His vision slowly returned but his ears were still buzzing. The first man pointed outside and said something Tom could not hear. Baumer disappeared out the door and the other came to kneel beside Tom.

Tom’s head spun and his wound burned. By now any infection would be deeply rooted in his flesh. He was too tired to fight the Germans off. If they meant him harm there was nobody there to stop them.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore. Not wanting to be awake anymore. He just wanted to sleep. He was so tired. Slowly his senses began to fade. He thought of Will. How was he? Was his hand okay? Tom wished he was with Will. He would hold the other’s hand and play with his hair until they both fell asleep. And if they could not sleep for the sound of the shells, then he would whisper quiet stories and hum old songs while holding his lover close. Anything to put Will at ease.

***

Will’s hand was stinging from the alcohol. It pulsed deep in his skin, burning away the beginnings of rot. He could stand the pain but even so, his hand shook as he held his small tin of tea. The warmth was long since gone from the liquid but that did not bother him. He slowly lifted the tin to his lips, taking a tentative sip. It tasted like mud.

Joe had come by earlier to tell him that the lorry to pick up the wounded had left. It should return that night without any trouble. Part of him still wanted to believe that Tom was alive, even if it meant he was suffering, at least he would still be out there somewhere. The hope was selfish of him and he hated himself for it. 

His head felt full of water. He went over the details of his lover again. Even with spending every waking moment thinking about Tom, things were still slipping. Joe said he just needed to relax, that things would come back to him if he just got more sleep. Will desperately wanted to believe him. But what if he was wrong? What if it was sleeping that was stealing his mind? Pulling his memories out from under him, leaving him just a terrified soldier. No home left to go to.

He tossed back the rest of his tea, trying not to think of the taste. The little tobacco tin in his breast pocket felt cold against his chest. He was still too afraid to look in it however. Worried that his mind had already distorted his sister’s face, worried he would be unable to recognize his own nieces. 

Wind bit through his coat, icy hands clawing at his bones. He shivered involuntarily. Even in the midday sun, it was still cold. A civilian might think differently but the soldiers were so weak and tired from fighting, to them it seemed ten degrees colder.

He lay back on his cot. Some of the men around him had passed in the night and, no longer needing their blankets, Will had taken one. He wrapped it around himself as he lay on his side, staring out at the empty field. Smoke poured from beyond the horizon, signifying the far off fire of war. He listened to the distant rumble of tanks and lorries. 

One of those lorries was going to pass the farmhouse. One of those lorries might confirm his worst fears. That there would be no more Tom. No more long nights spent sharing stories. No more stolen kisses while they were on watch. No more soft touches and the brush of skin on skin. No more quiet “I love you”s when they were sure no one was around.

With every racing thought, Will’s hope for Tom slowly burnt out until it was only a floating ember. Soon to be blown away by the wind. Tears rolled over the bridge of his nose without him noticing. The hard fabric of the cot turned damp from his crying. He shifted so his head rested on his right arm. He tried to hold back his sobs, taking deep breaths like Tom had taught him. It helped a little and he was able to doze off into a dreamless sleep for which he was grateful. Will did not think he could stand another nightmare.

***

The German pressed a dirty cloth bandage to Tom’s stomach. It hurt less than when Will did it which he assumed was a good thing. Maybe he was getting better. Very little blood flowed from the wound anymore. He found himself instinctively reaching for his rings only to remember they were gone.

Baumer came back through the door. He had two tins of biscuit with him. The other man spoke as he bandaged Tom, “War, dass alles, was du finden konnten?” 

Baumer nodded, setting the tins on the floor. The other looked at the tins and let out a sigh, “In Ordnung, etwas Schlaf.”

He nodded again, retreating to a corner of the room, sitting against the wall and leaning his head back. Even with his blurred vision, Tom could see the beginnings of a bruise around the boy’s neck. Someone had tried to kill him and he too had survived. And even after all he had been through, Tom still felt sorry for him. At least the boy had someone to help him.

When the first man finished bandaging him, he pressed one of the tins against Tom’s chest. The other he took with him as he moved to sit beside Baumer. The boy shifted in his sleep, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. Soon they were both asleep, leaning against the wall.

Tom slowly reached for the tin on his chest, gripping it as tight as he could. Sleep was close now and he welcomed it. The next time he woke up, whenever that might be, he would eat. But right now he was just tired. He closed his eyes. The sun beat down warmth onto his face.

***

The sound of a lorry engine woke him from his nap at around midday. It echoed off the walls of the old house, hurting Tom’s ears. The two Germans were also awake. Baumer was shaking like a leaf and the other was talking to him in a hushed voice. He nodded and they stood, Baumer gripping the other’s left arm like a lifeline. 

The engine died down and voices called out in English, complaining about not having space. As they grew closer, the Germans slowly edged towards the back door. Despite them being the enemy, Tom still hoped they made it out. Not just out of here, but out of the war.

A figure approached, stepping through the doorway. The tip of a bayonet shining in the sun. Tom tried to press himself up, they needed to see that he was alive. His wound still stung sharply with every move he made but this was his only chance at survival. His only chance to see Will again. To see Joe. To see his mum.

The figure stepped into the room Tom was in, spotting him, then the Germans. He raised his rifle.

“Don’t move, or I’ll blow you away!”

The one who had helped Tom raised his free hand. Baumer still clung to his other arm, terrified. The Englishman called for assistance, never taking his eyes off the two Germans. Tom finally managed to push himself into a sitting position.

His voice was raspy from disuse, “Please, let them go. They helped me.”

More shouts came from outside. The figure stared at the pair up against the wall. After what felt like forever, he waved his rifle towards the door, “Go.” 

Baumer seemed to understand. He tugged on the other’s sleeve and together they inched towards the exit, still not taking their eyes away from the Englishman. Once they were outside, they ran. Tom did not see where but he could hear their boots pounding against the earth.

Two stretcher bearers came into the room and immediately moved to Tom. They looked over the bandage around his stomach, telling him to just lay back and try not to move. He did as he was asked and they lifted him onto the stretcher.

Someone had come for him. He was safe. He would get to see Will again. His heart ached and tears slipped from his eyes at the thought of his lover. And Joe would be there too. He would yell at Tom for being stupid enough to get hurt but it would not last long. Then he would be back in his brothers arms again. Maybe he would even be sent home.

The stretcher bearers loaded him into the back of a lorry. There were other injured men in the back, some on stretchers, some sitting along the running on the sides of the lorry. Tom shifted as the lorry’s engines fired back to life, causing pain to shoot from his wound. He let out a small cry. He was so tired still, and now there were people to make sure he would not die. Sleep was less terrifying when there were medics just to his left. He closed his eyes and was out in seconds.

***

The sun hovered just over the horizon and the temperature began to drop. The lorry should have been back by now. Will picked at the bandage on his hand. Dinner had been something that only an experienced soldier could call stew. It tasted of grass trimmings and motor oil. 

Artillery guns sounded in the distance. The last few rounds before dark. Down by the camp there was a commotion. It must be the lorry. The injured would need to be moved to the med tents for care. 

Will rolled over in his cot so he could not see the walkway between tents. As much as he wanted to see Tom again, he did not think he could handle it if he was really dead. He tucked his ratty blanket around himself, careful not to touch it to the back of his head.

His injuries still pulsed sharply but his hand was starting to feel better. He could make a fist with only minimal pain now. The medics said he could be back on the front within a week, as long as his head did not get any worse.

He heard Joe’s voice calling his name. Will propped himself up on his arms. Sitting up all the way made his mind reel so he tried to avoid it. Joe’s hands were on his shoulders, shaking him and talking excitedly. Will struggled to understand what he was saying at first but then it clicked.

Tom was alive.

***

The lorry pulled to a stop and the stretcher bearers jumped into action, taking the wounded through the trenches to the med tents. Two took Tom and began making their way through the crush of soldiers.. He sleepily asked where they were.

“The Second Devons,” one responded.

Looking around, Tom saw the trench was full of men. Some were repairing bombed out walls, others were laying sandbags. The attack had been stopped. Will had made it. Joe had made it. His loved ones were safe. He let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

They cleared the trenches and suddenly someone was at his side, walking next to the stretcher. It was Joe. He had a bandage wrapped around his head and a patch of bloodstained cotton on his ear but other than that, he was unharmed.

The stretcher bearers helped to get Tom onto one of the cots. Medics quickly moved to work at his bandages. Joe knelt beside him and Tom could swear he was crying. He reached up for his brother and took hold of the collar of his uniform. Joe pulled his hand away, pressing two gold rings into it. His rings.

He gripped them tight, feeling the familiar weight of them in his palm. One of the medics pushed at his wound and he cried out. Joe’s face visibly paled at the sound. When the pain had subsided, Tom spoke.

“Will. Where’s Will?” his voice was quiet from exhaustion.

“He’s in one of the other tents.”

One of the other tents. He must be injured beyond just his hand. What had happened to him? Had he been shot? Had he fallen? Had he been hit by a shell? His breaths became uneven and Joe rested a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s okay. Just a little concussion, but he’s fine. He’ll be glad to know you’re okay. I’ll go tell him yeah?”

Tom nodded as best he could, wincing as the medics pressed a needle through his skin. His brother patted him on the shoulder before getting up. He wandered down the walkway between tents, trying to avoid any other stretchers.

Tom gripped the rings tightly as the medics worked. He was afraid if he let go they might disappear. The needle was pulled through his skin two more times. As the thread was pulled tight he could feel the ragged flesh of his wound pressing together in immense detail. Pain spiked through his skin and dug into his bones. 

When they were done they pricked a syringe into his arm. Morphine. Not enough to knock him out but enough to dull the pain. For the first time in days, everything really felt like it was going to be okay. The nightmare was finally over.

Joe had told him Will only had a minor concussion, maybe from a fall or something else little. That meant that he was at least getting rest. Maybe even food. Will had a tendency to deny these things when he was stressed or scared. Unfortunately this was almost all the time. Tom always had to be there to make sure he was getting enough sleep and eating enough food. 

The sun hung just above the horizon now. His body was starting to go numb from the morphine. It was so nice not to hurt anymore. Lights danced in the corners of his vision and he could tell sleep was close.

Someone was shouting in the walkway to his left. Then Will was at his side, gripping his arm. Tom’s heart swelled at the sigh of his lover. Tears streamed down Will’s face as he looked Tom over. Through the morphine, he could just make out that he was apologizing. What was he sorry for? It was not his fault Tom was stabbed. He had done everything he could with what he was given. He had stopped the attack. He had saved his brother. Everything was okay.

There was no point in trying to form words while the drugs coursed through his system. Instead, he reached his right hand out, taking Will’s in his own. He squeezed it as best he could, smiling weakly before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more lads, then it'll all be over.


	4. The Pain Of The Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this turned out a lot longer than i thought it would be. oops.

Tom was alive, he was here. Will’s heart was pounding against his ribs.

“Where is he?” His voice was desperate. He needed to see him, to know this was not some cruel joke the world was playing on him.

Joe pointed two tents over, “He’s ov-” 

And it was all Will needed. He jumped off the cot, marching through the wave of nausea that swept over him. He swallowed bile and choked back tears. Joe was right on his heels, trying to get him to sit back down. Telling him that he could hurt himself or make his head worse.

That almost got him. But he had to know if he was really forgetting Tom. If his memory was still slipping away, even with his desperate attempts to hold onto the pieces of his life. And he needed Tom to know he was sorry. He was so fucking sorry. If he had known, if he had just waited. Maybe they would have arrived at the Second together. He should have fucking waited like he wanted to. Orders be damned, he should have stayed.

Joe had stopped following him but was still shouting at him to stop, to come back. Will blocked him out. Just three meters ahead was a small group of medics. He saw the glint of a needle in the dying sun. That had to be where Tom was.

By the time he finally reached him the medics had left. He dropped to his knees, no longer able to stand. His heart skipped when he saw that Tom’s face was exactly as he remembered it. He looked relaxed as he lay there. Tom’s eyes turned to meet his own but Will cut him off before he could even open his mouth.

“Oh shit darling, I’m so fucking sorry,” he gripped Tom’s arm like he might vanish at any second, “I wanted to wait I really did but I thought you were dead. I thought I had watched you die. You were so cold,” tears streamed down his cheeks and he did not stop them, “You weren’t breathing. If I had known I would have stayed, or at least brought you with me. I’m so sorry I’m so fucking sorry sweetheart I-”

Tom reached over and took Will’s hand, squeezing it and smiling softly. He then rolled his head back on the cot and closed his eyes. Only this time Will could see the rise and fall of his chest. Tom was here. He was safe. Will had not forgotten him.

The sun dipped below the horizon. Will did not think he would be able to make it back to his cot. He was amazed he had made it here without collapsing in the first place. Instead he took one last look at his lover’s beautiful face before shifting to lay on the grass. The ground was hard and cold but the sleep he got that night was the best he had in years.

***

Tom did not normally dream. Even as a child it was rare. He was always jealous of Joe for this as he had vivid dreams almost every night. Always telling of them the next morning. The war had given him the occasional nightmare but they always faded shortly after he woke up. Leaving him with a racing heart, sweaty hands, uneven breathing. 

But Will would be there to help. It made Tom feel horrible that he needed Will there, knowing the man had his own nightmares almost every night. Tom would try to brush them off as if they were nothing, just a little bad dream, he would be fine. Then Will would pretend to believe him and lay back against the walls of the dug-out. Tom would curl up against his side, wrapping his arms around him. Sometimes Will would run fingers through his hair. They never slept very much during their forward rotation.

Tonight however, he did dream. Nothing exciting happened, nothing scary. It was just peaceful. He lay with his head in Will’s lap under one of the cherry trees back home. His lover was reading softly to him. The words escaped him but Will’s voice was soft like he had never heard it before. There was no edge of fear or bite of exhaustion when he spoke, only warm even tones of someone who has never known true terror.

Eventually Will put down the book. His hands found their way to Tom’s face, trailing his cheekbones, his jaw, his hairline. The touch felt so real and warm. He wished he could stay here forever. Or at least find a way to remember this dream. Just in case.

As the world blinked into focus Tom could feel the sun on his face. It was warm. The pain in his stomach was minimal although he would most likely need another shot of morphine soon. He turned his head, looking for Will. He was not there. That was probably a good thing, he needed rest. 

He shifted in his cot and immediately regretted it. One of the stitches pulled at his skin and a small cry slipped from him. Something shifted and Will bolted up beside him.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

He must have slept on the grass. The thought of Will, the man who always complained about having to sleep on the ground willingly sleeping on the grass for him, made him laugh. It hurt his wound but he did his best not to show it. 

“I’m fine, really,” he chuckled. 

Will nodded. He was clutching at his head now, pressing his eyes shut. Curling in on himself. Concern spun in Tom’s stomach. Will almost never showed pain. He must be hurting more than Tom thought.

“What's wrong?” He wished he could hold him close, press little kisses to his cheeks.

“I’m okay, just hit my head when I fell down the stairs,” he opened his eyes a little and took Tom’s hand, running a thumb over his knuckles.

“How did you fall down the stairs?”

“Bloody Hun shot me and I fell,” he squeezed Tom’s hand, looking down at the ground.

“You were shot?!” Tom scans Will’s body for something he might have missed, a sign of where the bullet had struck, “Where?!”

Will’s voice is almost inaudible and he turns his head away so Tom cannot see his face. 

“My head.”

“Will!” Tom tried to press himself up on his arms to get a better look at his lover, “What are you trying to do? See who can die first?”

Will jumped when Tom pushed himself up and tried to get him to lay back down, “No! It just hit my helmet, not me. I’m fine, just a little dizzy.”

After a moment of silence, Tom started to laugh. Will stared at him like he was mad, then his face betrayed him and he cracked a smile.

“We sure are a pair aren’t we,” Tom whispered.

Will pressed a kiss to Tom’s hand, “We sure are.”

***

Joe stopped by later that morning. He made Will promise not to sleep on the ground again and brought them both bread and jam. Tom was able to sit up with a little help from Will. The three ate together in pleasant silence. After a time, a medic came to give more morphine to Tom for which he was eternally grateful.

“So,” Joe said after the medic was gone, “Do you think they’ll be sending you home Thermos?” 

Tom’s face visibly flushed even with the little blood he had. “I thought you said you’d stop callin’ me that,” he huffed.

“I never said anything of the sort.”

Will snickered, “Thermos. I like that.”

“Don’t you start!” Will smiled softly and Tom’s heart melted, just like it always did. “And I have no idea if they’re gonna send me home. One guy I knew, Albers I think. Well, he lost a foot. The doctors slapped on a wooden one and he went right back out into battle. Bet they’ll do the same for me.”

They finished their food in silence. Will leaned forward to place a gentle kiss to Tom’s hairline. He tried to keep the colour from his face, trying not to show how deeply in love he was. It was wrong to love someone like Will, sinful even. But that was too damn bad. He had fallen hard for the other man the moment he was assigned to his section. 

Tom did his best to play the kiss off as something between friends. He knew Joe would not mind but there were still others around that might. Joe helped Will up and got him back to his own cot. Tom watched him go, desperately wishing he could stay with him.

Days passed and slowly, Tom was able to sit up on his own. It still stung to move but the medics decided that he did not need anymore morphine. Will would visit him every chance he got. Sometimes they did not even talk, just sat next to each other, enjoying the other’s company. It was still cold at night but as his strength returned it became bearable.

Joe would stop by once or twice a day to check in on him. Tom always told him there was no need, that he was fine. But Joe insisted, “You always manage to hurt yourself when I’m not looking,” he would say. Tom would call him stupid and Joe would ruffle his hair, laughing him off.

After almost two weeks on that blasted cot, Tom was able to stand and almost walk. Will was still a little dizzy from his concussion but he was able to help Tom around to the area behind the camp. They would walk a short distance off and sit together in the tall grass. Tom would hold his lover in his lap and tell him stories of home. It felt almost like this horrible mission had never happened.

One day Joe came to Tom with a letter from their mother. She ranted at Tom for getting hurt and scaring her so, but was grateful he was still alive. She promised to have a hot meal ready for him when he got home, whenever that might be.

It would be a lot sooner than he had thought. His injury, although healed almost completely, kept him from running. He could do most other things, but he would never be back at full strength. He was honorably discharged on April 26, having been awarded two medals for his service.

At first he was happy, overjoyed with the idea of home. Hopeful that Will would get to go home with him. However the letter Will received was very different. He got his own medals but was ordered back to the front in two days. After that he started to shut down. Tom made him promise he would not do anything stupid to try to get sent home. That he would come back to Tom in one piece.

Will promised but he looked so empty and Tom was very worried for him. He remembered first meeting Will after the Somme and was afraid he would slip back into the self destructive man he was before. Tom hugged him close, pressing one last kiss to the other’s jaw when no one was looking before getting on the lorry that would take him to the docks. He cupped Will’s face in his hands, wishing he could see his quiet little smile one more time. 

“I’ll be waiting for you at the station when you get back,” Tom felt hot tears building in his eyes and he blinked them back. Will should not have to watch him cry anymore. “Don’t go trading away your medals yeah? They’re more than just a bit of tin.”

Will smiled weakly, “You’re right, they’re not just a bit of tin. Got a little ribbon on them too.” 

Tom laughed through his tears, hugging the other man as tightly as he could. Will twisted his fists into the fabric of Tom’s coat. They broke apart and Tom was helped into the back of the lorry by Joe.

“Tell mum to save one of those puppies for me will you?”

“Of course, if I don’t take them all for myself first,” Tom joked.

Joe ruffled his hair as the lorry rumbled to life. The other men in the back watched silently as they pulled away from the camp. Tom could just see Will standing off to the side. Will smiled, catching his eye and Tom silently prayed he might see the other again.

***

It was almost sunset on November 13, 1918. The war had been won, it was over. Tom stood tiredly at the train station as the engine pulled slowly to a stop by the platform. His old scar was starting to hurt him from standing so long. Joe had written, telling him that he would be back on the twentieth with the other officers from the Second. There was no way of knowing which train Will would be on but Tom would be damned if he missed him at the station. 

He had written to Will once a week for over a year, ever since he arrived back home. Sometimes Will would write back. He would get a letter maybe once or twice a month from his lover. Tom knew how hard it was for him to write. His letters were either pages and pages of words or almost nothing at all. One time it was just a small paragraph about how much he missed him and if he could please send a picture Will would be forever grateful. Tom had dug out an older photo of himself from shortly before the war, smiling and happy, and sent it right away.

Once, it had been over a month since the last letter from Will. Tom had been starting to worry, barely sleeping, fearing the worst. His mother tried to help but he was constantly on edge. One morning, the regular post came with a tiny envelope addressed to Tom. It was from Will. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating as he tore into it. Inside was a muddy, bloodstained scrap of paper. It had been roughly torn on two of the edges, like it was ripped off of the corner of a larger piece. On it were five words written in quick, messy handwriting, ‘I love you so much.’

Tom did not know if this was good or bad. It was a letter from Will but the words had been scribbled with such urgency they were almost illegible. What had happened? Was he hurt? Was he dying? Was this the last letter he would ever get from his lover? He hugged the scrap of paper close, tears in his eyes. 

He tucked the note away in a small box he kept on his desk. It contained the rest of Will’s letters too. On his particularly bad days, he would take them out and quietly read them to himself. If he focused, he could almost hear Will’s voice reading them to him.

Tom had continued his letters for the next two weeks before he got another response. This time it was a much thicker envelope. Will explained he was safe, although he would be sporting a few new scars. ‘Nothing too serious,’ he assured, ‘Just a few burns on my arm.’ He had written the last letter during the battle of Ypres. He knew it had been too long since he wrote but he was too scared to write anything proper. Instead he tore off the corner of a ruined map and scribbled the last message on the back of it. He had needed Tom to know he was still there and apologized profusely if he had scared him. 

He told him how much the weekly letters meant to him since his sister had stopped writing. The post was the only thing holding him together sometimes. He begged Tom to keep writing to him, even if he was not able to properly write back. Begged him not to give up on him. That he was always thinking of him.

People pushed past each other on the station platform, wives, mothers, children, friends. The doors opened and people crowded around as the war weary soldiers stepped onto the platform. There were cries of joy as families were reunited. Tom waited away from the crowd, not wanting to be shoved around when he was already so tired.

A messenger stepped off the train carrying a bag of letters. They were for the families whose loved ones had been lost to the war. Tom hoped there was not one for him. He had heard from Will not even two weeks ago. He must be alive.

His eyes scanned the crowd for his lover. The station was beginning to empty as people left to celebrate, some to mourn. The crowd was now only half the size it was before and Tom stepped into it. He wandered aimlessly, hoping to find Will.

Every time the train would come, Tom would search and search until the platform was empty. Then he would go to the station post and ask if there was a letter for him. So far they had always said no.

The platform was almost empty now. He was losing hope. A few soldiers sat against the walls at the back of the platform. No one had come for them. They would have to find their own way home from there. 

As Tom passed them, something caught his eye. One of the soldiers against the wall had his knees pulled up to his chest, head buried behind them. Small sobs came from him. Tom could swear he had the same hair colour as his lover.

He kept his voice low, “Will?”

The man looked up at the name, his face puffy from crying. It was Will, he was here. When his eyes found Tom’s he jumped up and pulled the other into a tight embrace. Tom gripped him back, burying his face in Will’s shoulder. 

Will ran a hand through Tom’s hair, almost as if to check he was really there, “I thought you had forgotten me.” His voice was so quiet. Tom could feel his heart shattering.

“I told you I’d be waiting here for you and I meant it,” then softer, “I love you.”

Will whispered back, “I love you too.”

When they finally let go, Tom stepped back to see that Will had his medals pinned to his uniform. Beside the two from their mission together, a third shined. 

Will followed his gaze and smiled, “I promised I’d keep them didn’t I?”

Tom had forgotten how much he missed that smile. He could kiss him right here. Tom took the other’s hands in his own, feeling the deep scar on his left palm and a new one on his right wrist. This must be the burn Will had told him about. He made no mention of it. They could talk about the war later. 

“Do you have all your things?” Tom asked.

Will reached down and picked up a small cloth bag. He slung it carefully over his left shoulder. Together they left the station.

“It’s not too far of a walk back home. And I’m sure mum will be happy to finally meet you.” Tom said as they walked.

Will looked to him, “Does she,” he swallowed, “Does she know? About us?” 

“Oh! Yes she knows. She doesn’t care who I love as long as they love me back,” he smiled. Tom reached for Will’s right hand, intertwining their fingers, giving him a light squeeze.

Will’s shoulders dropped at that. He did not think he had the strength to hide his love any longer. 

They walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way to Tom’s home, never letting go of the other’s hand. There was nothing to say. They had each other again after so long apart. When they finally reached the house, Tom’s mum was delighted to see Will. She immediately went about making him a plate for supper. Tom showed him to their room and helped him with his things.

The second they were inside, Tom pressed his lips to Will’s. He still tasted the same after all this time. They stopped for breath and Will cupped Tom’s face with large hands.

“I love you so much darling,” he planted a kiss to Tom’s forehead.

“And I love you more,” Tom pulled him in for another kiss. He missed the feeling of the other’s mouth more than he could have imagined.

Will took his coat off and folded neatly into a drawer, medals still shining on the fabric. The rest of his uniform he stripped off, tossing to the floor. Desperate to get into some clean clothes. 

When he pulled off his undershirt, Tom got his first look at Will’s new scar. He had lied in his letter about it being only a little burn, that much was obvious. Ruined flesh twisted along his right arm from his wrist almost to his shoulder, stopping about halfway up his forearm. Tom reached out a hand to gently brush at the skin. Will shivered and looked away.

“It was a grenade, landed a little too close to me.”

Tom did not know what to say. Instead he tipped Will’s head down for a kiss, “Next time you almost lose and arm, don’t tell me it’s ‘Just a little burn.’”

This seemed to lighten the mood as Will started laughing. It was the most wonderful sound and Tom hoped he would hear it more often now that they were both safe.

Will had kept every letter Tom had sent him. They were tied together in a neat bundle at the top of his bag. Tom had kept Will’s as well. He showed them the small box he had on his desk and Will put his bundle in the box too. He had a change of clothes in his bag as well. Just a shirt and slacks but it was enough. Tom helped him do his buttons and they went down for supper.

That night they both lay together under the sheets, unable to sleep, afraid they would wake up to find it had all been some elaborate dream. They stayed awake almost all night, whispering softly to each other. Stories from the war, funny things they had overheard, pressing little kisses on the other’s skin. 

Will finally passed out at five in the morning. Tom followed shortly after, no one to talk to him and keep him awake. They slept through most of the next day and Tom’s mother let them. Neither dreamed of anything but the other. They curled closer in their sleep, twisting limbs together. They had both made it, they were home. They were safe at last.


End file.
